


memento mori

by ObscureReference



Series: Curses and Blessings [1]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M, Magical Realism, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2015-11-15
Packaged: 2018-05-01 17:19:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5214281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObscureReference/pseuds/ObscureReference
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"FROM THIS MOMENT FORWARD,"  the Witch said. "THIS CHILD IS CURSED. HE SHALL LIVE A LIFE AS FULL OR EMPTY AS ANY OTHER ON THIS EARTH, ENTIRELY OF HIS OWN CHOOSING. BUT SHOULD HE EVER FALL IN LOVE WITH ANOTHER, HE SHALL DIE. THAT IS MY GIFT."</p>
            </blockquote>





	memento mori

**Author's Note:**

> I said I was gonna write a Nursey/Chowder fic and here it is. I wrote an alternative version, as you can see by the "series" link. It's a version like this, except instead of death, Chowder is cursed with falling into an unwakeable sleep and events go slightly differently. Check that out too, if you have the time.

_Report of Birth_

_Vital Statistics Department — County Clerk's Office_

_Full name of child:_ **Christopher Chow**

 _Sex_ : **Male**

 _DOB_ : **October 10, 199--**

Weight: **6.9lbs**

_Maiden Name of Mother: **\----------**_

_Full Name of Father: **\-----------**_

_City_ : **San Francisco, California**

 _Affiliation_ :   Blessed    **Cursed**      Standard      Other

\-----

Chowder really, really liked it at Samwell.

He liked the way the frost left patterns on the windows in the winter. He liked Bitty's pies. He liked how the campus was always busy. He liked when Nursey and Dex got along long enough to watch the Sharks games with him. He liked Shitty's personality. He liked helping Lardo look for material for her art projects.

He liked sitting by the pond and listening to Nursey read poetry. He liked talking to Jack and cooking with Bitty and drinking with Nursey at crowded Haus parties. He liked all of his classes and coding with Dex and spending time with Nursey. He liked watching Ransom and Holster go back and forth in their conversations and the way Nursey's laughed sounded when they made a particularly good joke.

Okay. So Chowder liked Nursey, maybe. A little.

But nothing more.

\-----

"So," Bitty started, and for some reason his tone had Chowder's heart sinking. "You and Nursey have been spending an awful lot of time together lately."

Chowder shrugged.

"I guess," he said. It came out kind of weak and weird and when Bitty shot him a look from the corner of his eye, Chowder turned away so he didn't have to see. He tried to focus on mixing the dough.

When Bitty continued, his voice sounded a little more hesitant than before, but still held the same affectionate quality that for once made Chowder cringe.

"Well," Bitty said. "I've seen the way he looks at you at least. And I'm pretty sure I've seen you look at him the same."

Stop, Chowder said. Or maybe he didn't. Maybe his heart whispered it instead and it all felt the same when he was too petrified to move.

"Come on," Bitty teased, and Chowder somehow tensed even more. This was dangerous ground.  "It's okay to admit it, Chowder. I can even be your wingman if you want, even though I think your chances are pretty good on your own. Nursey really likes you."

It felt like a punch to the gut, electricity in his veins. Chowder's heart skipped a beat and for a moment he thought, This is it. And then he found his voice again.

"I don't like Nursey!" It came out sharp and much louder than he intended. His voice felt like steel. "I don't like anyone!"

The kitchen went silent. Not even Bitty made noise. They had both stopped stirring.

Chowder was afraid to look. He wanted to open his mouth, so say something else, to apologize, but everything tasted like copper and his throat was tight enough that he held still instead. He was so _mean_ just now, and Bitty had done nothing wrong. His head spun.

He was very grateful no one else is in the Haus right now. He wished he were gone too. But he didn't have that option, so he looked at Bitty instead. Bitty looked back, eyes wide. Chowder swallowed.

"I'm sorry, Chowder," Bitty said softly. "I didn't mean...."

Bitty's voice was so heavy and sad and awful. Chowder wanted to cry, a little.

"No!" It was too loud again. Chowder made a visible effort to reel his voice back in. He wasn't used to this at all. To yelling, to thinking about it— Any of this. "No, Bitty, it's— It's not you, I'm sorry!"

His throat caught on every other syllable, left him fumbling in the dust. It might have been magic at work here, but it felt a lot like Chowder's own inadequacy.

"I can't—"

 He couldn't even apologize correctly.

"I don't like anyone," he repeated. It felt like a confession. When Chowder breathed in, his chest shuddered.

Bitty only looked at him. Trying to decipher what Chowder was saying, no doubt, because he had to know it wasn't as simple as _like_ or _don't like_. Bitty was smart like that.

Chowder.

Chowder didn't know what he wanted.

On instinct, he brushed back the hair by his ear and turned, just so. He stared at the oven, neck craned so that maybe, at the right angle, Bitty might see—

"Chowder," Bitty said slowly, and Chowder knew he had seen. "Are you Cursed?"

He couldn't move. The whole world felt froze. 

"I don't like anyone," he repeated, his eyes never straying to Bitty's face.

Bitty's intake of breath was so sharp it almost echoed in the kitchen. He wondered if Bitty had ever met anyone who was Cursed before. He wouldn't have been surprised if Bitty was Blessed somehow, because Bitty was just so good and Chowder felt so bad about even being Cursed in the presence of someone so amazing, as though he might somehow infect Bitty somehow just by standing too close.

He knew that wasn't how Curses worked. Still. He thought about running, and then felt even worse because Bitty deserved the truth, whether or not Chowder could bring himself to give it. 

"Okay. Okay," Bitty says. "Alright. Is it. You probably can't talk about it, right?"

Chowder shakes his head. 

"Okay. That's fine. That's a-okay."

It was obvious Bitty was doing just as well as Chowder's mom had done when he'd first been Cursed as a child, repeating his assurances more to himself than Chowder. But he appreciated that Bitty was at least trying to put up a calm front.

"Can. Can I guess it? Is that okay?"

He nodded. 

"Alright." Bitty repeated. "Okay. Obviously it's something to do with love. Obviously. Alright. Uh. If someone loves... No. If you love..."

It took a minute for Bitty to work up to the first guess. The mixing bowls sat on the counter, forgotten. 

"If you fall in love," Bitty began. "Your love will..."

Chowder shook his head, once, quickly. Bitty made a noise. 

"Okay. Not your love then. If _you_ fall in love, then... Then you'll..."

There were only so many ways you can Curse someone with love. Bitty was smart. So smart. He'd have it figured out in no time and then. Then Chowder didn't know what. Then Bitty would know, he guessed, and he wasn't sure if that was better or worse. No one outside his family had ever known before. 

Bitty ran his tongue over his bottom lip. "If you fall in love..."

His breath caught. Chowder closed his eyes. 

"If you fall in love... you'll die."

It wasn't even a question, as mournful as Bitty sounded when he said it. Chowder confirmed it without opening his eyes. It was the oldest Curse in the book. Something out of a fairytale. The tattoo behind his ear confirmed it.

When Bitty's voice broke, it sounded a lot like Chowder's heart instead. 

" _Oh_. Oh, Chowder, God."

He opened his eyes. The world was blurry with tears Chowder hadn't even realized he was making, but it was still clear enough that he could see when Bitty's face broke. Then the floodgates opened for real. He knew his face is blotchy and ugly and wet, but Bitty took him in to his arms anyway, and even though Bitty was almost half a foot shorter than Chowder, it still felt safe and warm. He cried and cried and he thought Bitty might've been crying too. Everything was terrible forever and it was all Chowder's fault. 

"I'm sorry," he kept saying, even though he wasn't sure Bitty understood what he meant. He didn't fully understand it himself. He didn't like it when anyone is sad, especially Bitty. "I'm sorry."

Bitty rubbed his back and pushed Chowder's face in to his shoulder a little harder.

"It's okay," he said. "It's okay."  
  
If only.   
  
\----

His grandmother told him the story once. She had refused to ever speak of it in detail again, lest somehow evil came of it, but Chowder never forgot.

He was born on a cool October morning, his grandmother said. The sky was clear and the air was crisp. His mother had recognized the signs of labor and had gotten to the hospital with plenty of time to spare.

His birth had not been unusually long or hard, but it was tiring. The doctors had whisked him away for some general examinations, found him healthy, and brought him back so his mother could get a good look at him. His grandmother had stepped out of the room for only a moment, the doctors leaving to tend other patients, and Chowder was alone with his mother.

His mother had cradled him, taking in every inch of his sleeping face when her own eyelids began to droop.

His mother had dozed off. Just for a minute, she said. Just for a split second she had closed her eyes.

When she had woken up mere moments later, her arms were empty and the Witch's were full.

The Witch cradled Chowder's infant body above his mother's bed and his mother could only look on in horror, knowing she could not simply pluck him out of the beast's arms, lest something terrible befall her newborn son. She had no idea what would happen if she moved or of how fickle the Witch's whims were. There was nothing to do but watch.

His grandmother came in at that exact moment and froze in the doorway at the sight. His grandmother described it as though all time and space had faded away except for that one, tiny hospital room.

Some babies were born with Curses or Blessings, his grandmother said, cast by far off Witches at random, shaping the lives and fortune of children by mere chance. For a Witch to seek out a child in person was something other than mere happenstance. It was deliberate.

Of course it would be a Curse the Witch came to give, she said. Witches were dreaded, ominous creatures. They did not grace your household to bring glad tidings.

His grandmother described the Witch looming over his mother as a great shadow, an indefinable shade. Shapes formed and re-formed under the wispy cloth covering most of the Witch's face, ever-shifting, more beast-like than human. Everything about its very presence seemed to suck the brightness from the room. Everything, of course, except for the infant cradled in its arms.

 _"FROM THIS MOMENT FORWARD,"_  the Witch said. The walls shook as if blown by a great wind as the Witch neared its long, narrow beak closer to Chowder's sleeping face. _"THIS CHILD IS CURSED."_

His mother gasped. His grandmother said she felt the whispers of its terrible voice behind her ribcage like a slithering beast. She nearly collapsed in the doorway, trembling from the force of it.

_"HE SHALL LIVE A LIFE AS FULL OR EMPTY AS ANY OTHER ON THIS EARTH, ENTIRELY OF HIS OWN CHOOSING. BUT SHOULD HE EVER FALL IN LOVE WITH ANOTHER, HE SHALL DIE. THAT IS MY GIFT."_

A wisp of something barely visible left the ghoulish mass of shadows that composed the Witch's face, slithering down its arms and over Chowder's body. It curled around his throat. The Witch simply observed as the wisp suddenly reared back and struck the space behind his right ear with a lash that echoed throughout the hospital room.

Nobody moved, Chowder included. There was no indication he had ever felt the evil on his skin.

Satisfied, the Witch placed him almost gently back in to his mother's arms. His mother stared, open mouthed. The movement jostled Chowder's sleeping form, and with the force only a baby could muster, he began to cry for the second time since his birth.

That was when his mother began screaming. Suddenly, the Witch was gone, and his mother's voice had summoned an army of doctors. His mother was too hysterical to do anything but shriek, which left his grandmother to describe what happened.

The doctors examined everyone present in the room, but the only evidence of the Witch's treachery had been the dark, bold letters inked into Chowder's skin, nearly hidden by the curve of his ear: _Memento Mori_.

His grandmother had only spoken of the incident twice in her life; once, when the doctors had frantically asked what had caused their patient's hysteria, and then once more, over a decade later, when Chowder had begged to know what the mark behind his ear meant and why it made his mother slump when she saw it.

"Evil comes when you call for it," his grandmother said, looking out the window for some wicked thing he couldn't see. "Do not speak of such things again."

Chowder had never forgotten the gravity of her voice or the way her eyes shined in the sunlight. He touched the space behind his ear briefly and didn't ask again.

\----

They cried and cried and cried in the kitchen until they both ran out of tears. They finished mixing the dough and they cleaned up both the kitchen and themselves. Bitty didn't ask for details and Chowder offered none. There was nothing else to say. At the end of the day, a Curse was a Curse. There was no cure. There was no option except to keep on going.

And it really wasn't such a bad thing, Chowder thought. He wasn't dead yet. Bitty's cookies came out of the oven out just as beautiful and delicious as always. The Sharks seemed to be on a winning streak, and Dex had asked him to go to the movies tomorrow. He has an astronomy exam in another week, and there was always another practice, another job to be done. Chowder didn't have time to dwell on some far off (or even pretty close) death. Everyone died and everyone had problems. It didn't do anyone any good to sulk about it all day. That would only make him miss all the good things going on.

He took a long, hot shower that evening, because that was one of the benefits of being alive. And if Bitty snuck him an extra cookie before bed, Chowder thanked him profusely and didn't ask why. Bitty was just sweet like that.

\-----

" _So long this lives, and this gives life to thee_ ," Nursey finished. He glanced up at the ending and smiled. Chowder smiled back.

"I liked that one," he said. It was true. Chowder never really got Shakespeare, but coming from Nursey it all sounded rather nice, even if he wasn't entirely sure what it meant.  

"So," Nursey said as he adjusted the book in his lap. "Which one next?"

Chowder hummed and examined the upside down book before him. Nursey allowed him to flip the pages until another poem caught his eye.

"What's this one?" Chowder asked, fingering the title.

"' _In Paris With You_ by James Fenton'," Nursey read aloud. "That's a pretty good one. You want to hear it?"

Chowder couldn't keep the enthusiasm out of his voice, even if he tried. He didn't. "Yes, please!"

They had been doing this for nearly an hour now. Chowder had originally visited Nursey's room to study, but after the first few minutes, he'd grown more interested in Nursey's homework than his own. Chowder didn't know anything about poetry, but listening to Nursey talk about all the finer details of a poem that Chowder would otherwise miss was fascinating.

The book seemed to be a collection of poems without any rhyme or reason tying them all together, but Chowder found each one as captivating as the last. Especially when Nursey was the one reciting it.

Nursey cleared his throat as Chowder pressed his cheek against the cool sheets. The dorm beds weren't made to hold two hockey boys comfortably, but they made it work.

"Here we go," Nursey said, grinning. He looked down at the book.

" _Don't talk to me of love. I've had an earful_ __  
And I get tearful when I've downed a drink or two.  
I'm one of your talking wounded.  
I'm a hostage. I'm maroonded.  
But I'm in Paris with you."

Oh, Chowder thought. This poem was a lot simpler than the previous poems Nursey had been reading. A lot simpler than Shakespeare, at least. It sounded different leaving Nursey's mouth than the other ones too.

Despite the way Chowder had cocked his head and paused, Nursey hadn't done the same. By the time he caught up to what was being said again, Chowder thought he had missed a few stanzas.

 _"Don't talk to me of love. Let's talk of Paris,_ __  
The little bit of Paris in our view.  
There's that crack across the ceiling  
And the hotel walls are peeling  
And I'm in Paris with you."

Nursey's eyes flickered off the page, and suddenly Chowder found their gazes locked. Nursey's voice slowed as he looked away from the book, but it never faltered, as though he had read the poem enough times to have memorized it by now.

Chowder's face felt hot.

 _"Don't talk to me of love. Let's talk of Paris._ __  
I'm in Paris with the slightest thing you do.  
I'm in Paris with your eyes, your mouth,   
I'm in Paris with... all points south.

_Am I embarrassing you?"_

Nursey paused for a moment and Chowder couldn't tell if that was deliberate or if he had finally forgotten the words. But Nursey still refused to break eye contact, and after a moment he picked up again.

He finished, " _I'm in Paris with you._ "

Unlike the other poems, Nursey didn't immediately grin at the end of his performance and ask Chowder what he thought. This time he said nothing.

"Wow," Chowder croaked after a long moment.

The room was a lot warmer than when they had started, even though Chowder had long since lifted his head from the sheets. He looked away quickly, and the pencil he had tucked behind his ear went rolling to the floor. It was the perfect excuse to jump off the bed and collect himself. When Chowder turned back, pencil in hand, Nursey was looking at the book again.

There was nowhere else to go. Chowder climbed back on the bed. His elbow knocked in to Nursey's knee as he did. He bit his lip and didn't look up.

He really, really liked Nursey. It wasn't a good thing.

\-----

They were at the Pond when it happened. He wasn't surprised; the day was warm for early spring and the Pond had long since melted. The grass tickled his skin when he laid down in it. It was a wonderful day to be out and about.

"Hey, C," Nursey had called from the kitchen as Chowder opened the front door to the Haus. "You feel like making the trek out to the Pond with me?"

Nursey had sounded kind of funny when he asked, but Chowder had chalked it up to the acoustics of the kitchen.

"Sure!" Chowder agreed, because Bitty wasn't there to give him a sad look for it. He had dropped his backpack by the door and trailed after Nursey's long, graceful steps out the back without questioning why or who or how long, because Chowder would have gone no matter what.

It wasn't a long walk, but Nursey's hand kept brushing Chowder's the whole way there and Chowder wasn't really sure whose fault that was.

Normally, he would've pulled away at that point, because that hit a little too close to home. But he was tired of trying to avoid the inevitable and dwelling on what couldn't be changed. So he kept walking instead, and relished the way his skin heated up every time Nursey's hand touched his and didn't think about what it could mean.

It was a really nice day, if a little brisk, but there were only a few other people at the Pond when they arrived. Most of them were couples who were too busy looking at each other to notice anyone new arriving. Chowder thought he knew the feeling, if only a little.

Chowder loved sprawling out in the grass now that it was finally warm enough to do so again. When he fell on his back, it was with an audible thump. Nursey laid down next to him, on his side instead of his back, scooting a little closer to Chowder than necessary. It may have been spring, but there was just enough nip in the air to require a jacket. Chowder didn't mind the extra heat so close.

"Are you okay?" Chowder asked, frowning, because Nursey's been awfully quiet the whole way down to the Pond.

The question made Nursey grin. In lieu of answering, he raised his free arm instead, eyebrow quirked in question, and it was so ridiculous Chowder almost laughed. As though he would ever turn down the chance to snuggle with anybody.

Chowder rolled onto his side so they were both facing each other, and their positions almost forced Chowder to bury his nose in Nursey's neck until they shifted and Nursey's chin nearly rested on the top of Chowder's head instead. Chowder's face ended up pressed against Nursey's chest, which he didn't mind. There was almost no space between them once they got comfortable, and Chowder really didn't want to move.

The grass made for a soft bed, and he was just tired enough to start to doze when Nursey moved his free hand to Chowder's cheek.

He didn't say anything when his palm came to rest against Chowder's skin, and if Chowder's breath caught more than a little, he hoped Nursey wouldn't notice.

"What's up with this?" Nursey asked, pushing some stray hair behind Chowder's ear. "You working on some ink of your own?"

It was hard not to smile, even if Chowder would have rather not thought about it. He shifted slightly closer to Nursey's warm chest, and Nursey cupped the back of his neck instead.

"Something like that," Chowder answered. He could smell fresh grass from the recent rain and the particular scent Nursey had, comforting and smooth.

They laid together for a moment, letting the soft breeze wash over them. It was the perfect day to be outdoors. With his eyes closed, it even felt like they were the only two people at the Pond. Something funny settled in his chest.

Chowder pulled back after a few minutes, looking upward. Nursey's relaxed grin seemed to glow in the sunlight, just like the rest of him. It was beautiful, Chowder thought. _Nursey_ was beautiful.

Something shook behind his lungs in a way both similar and different to the kind of butterflies Nursey had given him before. It took a moment for Chowder to realize what was happening. That his heart was fluttering literally and not figuratively.

If it had to be anywhere, he figured, at least it was somewhere nice. 

When Nursey started to hum, Chowder could feel the vibrations travel throughout his whole body. He closed his eyes when Nursey tilted his head down and pressed his lips to Chowder's forehead. They were as soft and warm against his skin as Chowder had always imagined them to be. He wished he could have kissed Nursey for real. He wished for more of this, but the time he had been given was already more than enough. So much borrowed time.

He wished he could have told Nursey how happy he was and thank Bitty for everything and tell Jack that he was going to be amazing in the NHL, whatever team he chooses, but he couldn't. So Chowder smiled in to Nursey's shirt and breathed in the scent of fresh grass instead.

It didn't hurt. It wasn't unlike falling asleep, if a little more heart-fluttery. He was pretty sure there was metaphor in there somewhere, but Chowder had never been great with figures of speech. He'd leave that to poets like Nursey any day of the week.

It didn't hurt. If not for the 'never waking up' part, Chowder almost wouldn't mind at all.

\-----

Chowder woke up.

He hadn't expected to wake up.

At first he thought the sun gone, surprised to find that the afterlife was fairly dark, but then he realized it was just Nursey's head hovering above him, blocking the light.

It took another minute before he realized Nursey's hands were cupping his cheeks and there was a firm leg pushed between his own. Nursey had nearly crawled on top of him. He had probably been the one to roll Chowder on to his back as well. They were still by the Pond, as far as Chowder could tell. And also, as far as he could tell, he wasn't dead.

He wasn't dead.

He wasn't really sure what went wrong (right?) there.

"Hey," Nursey said. His voice was a little strained, and he looked at Chowder like. Like something. "Thought you were gone for a second there."

Chowder shivered, and Nursey must have taken that as some kind of sign because he lowered himself even further down, far enough that there was some space between their faces but none between their chests. If any part of the early spring chill had tried to slip between them before, there was no chance of success now.

Someone's heart was beating a mile a minute and Chowder couldn't tell whose it is. The ghost of Nursey's breath brushed his face.

"Did I...." His mouth was a little dry. Chowder swallowed, then tried again. "What happened?"

"I kissed you," Nursey said simply.

His mouth was definitely, really dry. "What?"

"You weren't—."

Nursey stopped himself. Took a breath. His hands grasped Chowder's face a little firmer, like he wasn't really sure Chowder was there. "You stopped breathing. You just. Stopped. So I kissed you."

"Oh," Chowder said. Because he wasn't really sure what else to say. Or how any of this was happening, really. He wasn't sure why kissing someone would be the right thing to do when they die, but apparently it was. Somehow.

Being pressed so close together, it was hard not to notice when Nursey's eyes flickered from Chowder's lips and back.

Chowder had a mouth like a desert.

"Do you feel okay?" Nursey asked, and that's when Chowder realized that Nursey was flustered, as Bitty would say. Not that Chowder could blame him. He thought he knew were this was going and then suddenly everything had taken a sharp turn into the world of confusion. "Do you need to go to a hospital? I mean, I think I did it right, but—"

"Did what right?" Chowder asked, cutting him off. It was the first full sentence he'd actually said since coming back from the dead, and it caught himself off guard as much as it did Nursey. Then he remembered Nursey had asked him a different question as well.

"I feel fine," he said, and it was truth. He didn't feel cold or weird or like his heart is slowing down anymore. He felt good. Refreshed, even. "But what..."

Chowder wasn't really sure how to finish the question. Nursey seemed to get it anyway, his nose brushing by Chowder's when he nodded.

"I'm Blessed," Nursey said. "Am. Was. I don't really know if it counts anymore."

He paused to let that sink in for a moment.

Chowder blinked. _Blessed_. The word seared itself into Chowder's brain. It was the opposite of everything he'd ever known.

"I have True Love's Kiss," Nursey admitted, quietly, like he was embarrassed to say it out loud. Nursey, who Chowder has seen shrug it off when he accidentally hit a stranger in the face with his hockey bag or push a full carton of eggs off the counter.

"True Love's Kiss?"

The True Love's Kiss Blessing was the stuff of legends, the all magical cure from the history books. Just like how the Curse of Death was the stuff of fairytales. Chowder had never heard of anyone outside a storybook ever actually having such a thing.

Funny, how the two of them ended up in the same place.

"I'm Cursed," Chowder admitted. He felt like he owed it to Nursey after dying by his side and all that. Even after telling Bitty, it still felt weird to confess. It felt a little like he was throwing his grandmother's warnings out the window. Nursey looked at him with wide eyes. "If I ever fall in love, I'll die."

He realized he was still using future tense ( _if_ he falls in love, _then_ it'll happen), even though it all happened already. Just minutes ago. The thought left him a little dizzy, though that also could have been how close Nursey's face was to his own.

The Curse had come and gone. Chowder was not dead, but he was still in love. He'd never considered those two things coexisting in any state of permanence before.

Nursey's eyes trailed over his face, his jaw line, his nose, his forehead, everything. Taking in the implications of what Chowder had just confessed.

"I guess I'm not so Cursed anymore," Chowder amended.

It had to be true. In every story he'd ever heard, True Love's Kiss broke the Curse every time. It had been strong enough to bring him back from the brink of death, at least. It only made sense that if Nursey was telling the truth, Chowder was now free.

The thought made his heart jump. Nursey must have felt it because he nestled a little closer, dipped down until his lips almost touched Chowder's. Like he was ready for the Curse to snatch Chowder again at an moment.

"You love me," Nursey said. It wasn't a question. Chowder might as well have had said the words himself.

Even though Chowder couldn't bring himself to break eye contact and watch the grin spread over Nursey's face, he could feel the ghost of it against his mouth.

Love. Chowder loved a lot of things. He loved Bitty's pies and summer days and sharks and the sound of ocean waves on the shore. He loved hockey and the way Dex snorted when he laughed and how Lardo could make something out of anything and how Shitty was so genuine. He loved birthday cake and his family and the Haus and Samwell.

He also loved Nursey. But he'd never allowed himself to think that, to feel that, before.

It was. Amazing.

"Yeah," he breathed. Something giddy bubbled up in his chest.

Nursey traveled the last few centimeters of space between them. Technically, it was their second kiss, but it still felt breathtaking and smooth and new. Chowder's eyes fluttered shut, and he wrapped his arms around Nursey's neck even though it was almost impossible to pull him any closer.

Chowder had never kissed anyone before. He hoped it was okay.

Judging by the way Nursey looked at him when he pulled back for air, it was more than okay.

"This is really cool," Chowder confessed as Nursey trailed kisses across his cheek. Nursey huffed against his ear. It sounded like music.

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr is http://someobscurereference.tumblr.com/
> 
> Feel free to hit me up there or leave a comment below! Check out the "Curses and Blessings fic" tag for some meta on why Nursey gets a little embarrassed to admit he has the True Love's Kiss Blessing. 
> 
> Poems:  
> "Sonnet 18" by William Shakespeare  
> "In Paris With You" by James Fenton

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [at the Pond](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6890536) by [beir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beir/pseuds/beir)




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